Free Compete by Norilana Books

throat. . . . So okay, I am just going to pass out now— No! Get a goddamn grip, Gwen, you idiot!
    “Lark—you made it. Congratulations on Qualifying,” he says, after the briefest pause during which his eyes meet mine with lively intensity, and his lips—just for a moment—seem to curve into a shadow of a smile. But he hides it instantly, and resumes displaying a very controlled expression as he continues watching me.
    But it is the sound of his voice—clean, deep, familiar—that pierces me on such a visceral level, sending electricity down my skin.
    I stand at the doors, like an idiot, unsure of what to do or say. And then I open my big mouth and out comes all this stupid stuff. . . .
    “Command Pilot Kass—Oh! I’m sorry— Kassiopei —I mean, that is—I don’t—I am not sure how to address you properly,” I mutter. “For that matter, I don’t even know if I am supposed to bow or curtsey or something—I mean—”
    “Stop,” he says. “Nothing has changed. You may call me Command Pilot Kass or Kassiopei—it is the same thing. ‘Kass’ used to be my nickname in Fleet Cadet School, a few years ago, back on Poseidon in Atlantida . I chose to use it while we were on Earth, simply to minimize exposure. With all the instability and global crises happening on Earth, there was no need to draw unnecessary additional attention to my identity.”
    “Oh,” I say, biting my lip painfully, in order to dissipate the crazy blush, and vaguely try to look away. I finally settle my gaze in the general area of his chin, his throat, even his collar, so as not to meet his gaze. “So then, I don’t need to bow or salute or anything?”
    “Not at the moment. Though, there may come a time when you will be required to learn and perform the proper salute or other signs of courtesy—during formal occasions.” He watches me with a very calm, very composed, almost weary expression. And yet it does not manage to sufficiently disguise his underlying amusement .
    Oh lord, yes, he is amused by me! I am not sure if I should be relieved or insulted.
    “Okay,” I say softly. And then I dare to look up and face his gaze directly.
    There is a pause, during which we look at each other. And then unexpectedly he blinks first.
    “Come closer,” he says, resting his hands on the surface of his desk. “Take a seat.”
    I do as I’m told and sit on one of the four chairs, perching somewhat on the edge of the seat. My palms are clammy and I clutch the ends of my uniform shirt.
    “Now, tell me, what did you choose before the transfer? I have here some incomprehensible note from Captain Bequa Larei about you not giving her a proper answer? So—what kind of trouble did you start on AS-1109?”
    “I merely told her that I choose neither Cadet nor Civilian, but to be a Citizen of Atlantis.”
    His eyes narrow slightly and he grows very still. “What in the world for? What kind of nonsense is this?”
    I take a deep breath and stare back at him. “I want to become a Citizen,” I repeat. “Why is that nonsense? Don’t I have a free choice in the matter? So, I choose neither Civilian nor your Fleet.”
    He leans forward over his desk, drawing closer to me. “You have no idea what you are saying. How do you even know about Citizenship? This is advanced material, not something that was supposed to be covered in your Culture Class.”
    “I know enough to know about the Games of the Atlantis Grail.”
    “You what? ” Now he is stunned, and his lips part as he stares at me.
    “I know that you hold the Games every year, and Ten lucky winners, called Champions, are crowned, and they get Citizenship, plus all their wishes granted—”
    As I speak, I see him shaking his head negatively, and his frown deepens in intensity. “No,” he interrupts me. “This is insanity. If you know anything about the Games you also know that all of the other entrants die. No one wins, but a handful, and the whole thing is tragic—ancient brutal